


Key

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rule one of the Inquisition: don't get hit on the head by a dragon. Just... don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key

It happens in the blink of an eye – and yet Cassandra feels time slow down around her as she watches, helpless to protect him.

The dragon had cornered her, as planned, but the Inquisitor had been knocked aside and despite Solas’ barriers and her shield, the Seeker did not fancy her chances against the flames of such a mature beast. _Damn it all_ , she thinks, _to die to a dragon!_

“Hey! That’s my girl you’re hitting on!”

Varric’s words are just audible above the roar from the dragon, a barrage of crossbolts jutting out of its leg. It turns, giving her the time she needs to rally and strike at the exposed nape with her sword. The dragon screeches, tail flicking across the floor suddenly and catching Varric’s legs. He is thrown across the field, striking the rocks with considerable force.

“Varric!”

As he falls to the floor, she watches the hedge-mage’s magic shimmer over him, protecting him from further harm. Beyond, the Inquisitor pulls herself to her feet, gesturing to the Seeker. _End it._

Cassandra Pentaghast does not disappoint.

* * *

She paces the floor, waiting for the news. Eventually, it comes – with grave faces and a soft touch on her shoulder.

“The blow to his head – Cassandra, he’s forgotten so much.”

She stares at Dorian, confused for a moment. “How much?”

“He thinks he should be in Kirkwall. He doesn’t remember _any_ of this.” Dorian glances back to the door. “Cullen is with him now, explaining what he can, but…”

“But we must tread carefully,” she murmurs, feeling her stomach sink. “We are strangers to him now.”

“His memories will return in time, but yes – prudence, for now.”

“A sodding Pentaghast?” Varric’s incredulous voice comes through the open doorway. “And I _still_ get knocked out by a dragon?”

She does not stay to hear more.

* * *

He can see echoes of his old friends in each of them – the carefree laugh of Isabela that hides a world of hurt is perfectly reflected in the chuckle the Tevinter mage lets slip. Curly is calmer now, a solid strength resonating from within, and he has to wonder at the details the ex-Templar had left out of his stories.

Still, the faces are cheery enough, despite the air of tension that settles in the courtyard as he is re-introduced to the band of strangers. They offer their names, and he guesses at nicknames for each of them.

“Tiny.”

“In one,” laughs the Iron Bull.

“Not exactly subtle,” offers Varric, turning to the ladies of the group. “Ruffles – again, a little obvious. Nightingale, pleasure to see you again, I think…”

“As always,” smiles Leliana. Next to her, the Seeker looks oddly strained, and he considers her for a long moment.

“Seeker, what do I call you?” She looks shocked for a moment, and there is an edge to the silence that falls. He glances between the group. “What?”

“You call me Seeker,” she says finally, tone clipped as she straightens. “Nothing more.”

“Huh.” He shrugs slightly. “Well, can’t win ‘em all.”

She manages a nod, not quite meeting his eyes. It rankles, and he is not sure why.

* * *

He sits with Cole, because he misses Merrill. The chatter is a little unnerving, but he has more than enough to think about.

“Your head hurts.”

“Yeah, well, getting knocked on your ass by a dragon’ll do that to a guy.”

Cole rests a hand on his shoulder. “But your heart hurts more.”

"Why can’t I remember?" he wonders aloud. “It should be coming back to me already.”

” _Hurts, tears at the heart, ragged edges with every glance, looking right through me and only seeing a shadow of the person I once was. And yet I endure for him._ " Cole lets out a long breath, tugging at the brim of his hat. "You have a key to a door. Help her, and she can help you."

"She?"

But the boy says nothing more, rolling backwards and vanishing silently.

* * *

Dorian has the grace to look awkward as Varric presents him with the key.

"Look, it’s not that _simple_ -“

"Sure it isn’t.”

“Varric, imagine you were a private person.” The mage regards the key, holding it to the light. “Imagine you had lost much, that you carried the scars of the world and the weight of history and despite all that you kept your fears and hopes locked away. Now imagine that, despite the world falling apart around you, you find someone you can trust with the key.”

“Are you telling me -”

“Oh, for the love of – it’s not a _literal_ key to an actual chest of emotion,” Dorian drawls. “Imagine you find that person, and then overnight they forget everything they knew about you. Could you still trust that person with the key?”

And that makes sense, Varric has to admit. But Cole’s words hang over him still. He has to know, has to understand what help he could possibly give.

“Just… tell me. I might not be the person I was yesterday, but I’m not a complete stranger.”

Dorian hesitates, eyes softening for a moment. “You didn’t hear this from _me_ ,” he insists, pressing the key into the dwarf’s hand once more.

* * *

The Seeker’s room is dark, the bed occupied. There is an air of familiarity here that he cannot place. Clearly, he has been here before. She sleeps curled on her side, a simple nightshirt hanging off her shoulder and revealing warm skin that tempts, despite the chill in the air. He hesitates for a moment, trying to make sense of the feeling that lingers -

Wait. Her shirt.

His heart hammers in his chest as he leans in a little closer. No, _his_ shirt. She is wearing _his shirt_.

"Shit," he breathes. 

She stirs slightly, still under the heavy sway of sleep but eyes opening just enough to find the dwarf inches from her face. “Var’c?”

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, and she mumbles assent, one hand extricating itself from the covers long enough to reach up and stroke his cheek. It sends a thrill through him, brief but lingering, and he fights the urge to press his lips against hers before she rolls over and falls back into her dreams.

He cannot remember this, but his heart recalls it perfectly. He is in love with a woman who is no better than a stranger to him.

* * *

He knows himself well enough to start the search in his desk. Where there was a woman, there was a story, and sure enough he finds a book he does not recall. The manuscript lies in a drawer, stained but legible. Kicking his boots off, he props himself up with pillows before opening to the first chapter. It felt alien, to be reading his own handwriting and not knowing what came next, but the story is good and he can skim a lot of the descriptions…

He does not remember writing the books, but the plot is clearly familiar territory. As the hours pass, more memories come to him – the exchange between the brigand and the librarian brings to mind the adventures in the Emerald Glades with Dorian. The shield-maiden’s tragic past sparks another flash – his awkward explanation of Bianca, her admittance of Regalyan, their careful dance around the giant nug in the room. 

By the time he reads the final chapter, the pieces are almost there. But the love letter to Cassandra does not tell him the most important part, and as he reads the last page a veil of frustration falls over him.

“Shit.” He throws the manuscript across the room. “Why can’t I _remember_?” Rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye, he groans. How did he win her over? Her hand had reached out to _him_ , she was wearing _his_ shirt, this could _not_ be a one-way passion!

Stalking over to his desk, he rummages through the drawers, looking for something, _anything_ that might light the way. Fingers close around an envelope, and he pulls the letter free with ease – his writing, again, but clearly not sent.

“Seeker,” he reads aloud in a soft voice, “you have just left my room -” Here, his lips curl into a slight smile before continuing, “- but your lips remain on my mind. Nice play, Seeker. Who would have thought you’d beat me to it?”

A memory sparks.

* * *

Myra sits with Cassandra in the early morning, watching the Seeker with care.

"Have you tried stabbing a book in front of him? Might jog his memory."

The Seeker laughs, shaking her head. “I do not have the heart to damage more literature,” she admits, “but I shall bear it in mind as a back-up plan.”

Beyond them, the dwarf in question enters the tavern, a jaunty whistle on his lips. Myra smiles. “He looks happy. You think more came back to him?”

"Well, the healers _did_ suggest that it would return with some good rest.”

"Mm."

"Good morning, your Inquisitorialness," he offers with a bow, grabbing Myra’s hand and lightly placing a kiss on her knuckles. The unexpected gesture makes her blush, which sets him laughing before he settles at Cassandra’s side. "And a very good morning to you, _Princess_.”

"Good morning, Varri-" She stops, turning to stare at him. "What did you call me?"

Myra beats a hasty retreat, finding a safe distance to watch the show unfold.

"I believe," Varric points out, "that I owe you an apology or five." Taking her hand in his with great care, he brings it to his lips, a much more sensual act than the kiss he had offered the Inquisitor. "Princess."

"You… you remember?"

He nods, and her grip tightens on his hand. “Seeker, listen - wait, where are you going?” he asks as she stands up, tugging on his arm.

"Not here. Come on."

* * *

They fall into his room, and she pushes the door closed before saying another word, a long sigh escaping her.

“Cassandra?”

“I was… worried,” she admits, “that you might never remember – that it would never be the same.” She turns to face him, smile bright despite the tears that begin to fall. “When you called me Seeker, it was like… an accusation. An insult. Nothing like your usual tone. I thought my heart would break.”

He reaches for her, pulling her in close as he wraps his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I am so, _so_ sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she whispers, resting her hands on his shoulders as she leans down to kiss his crown. “After all, you were not the one to entice the dragon over in the first place.”

“A damned dragon… remind me never to save anyone’s life again.”

“You do not remember, do you?”

“No, but the healers said that was likely.” He pulls back, looking up at her with a crooked smile. “Not exactly high on the list of lifetime achievements I’d like to recall, anyway.”

She sits on the bed, smiling as he brushes away the tears with a gentle touch. “Do you remember that very first kiss?”

"You came back in just to stake a claim on me." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "You always were the brave one."

"You deserved my very best," she murmurs, pulling him closer.

"That’s bullshit," he grins, "but I’m glad you gave it to me all the same."

"Varric -"

"My heart missed you, you know." He pushes her down onto the bed, straddling her as he peppers her neck with light kisses that elicit a sharp gasp. "I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there, but I knew I was in love with you."

"Oh, _Varric_.” She cradles his face in her hands, smiling up at him. “Kiss me.”

He lets her pull him in close, hovering above her. “Wait. I want to -”

“What?”

He smiles, thumb grazing her lip lightly as he takes in every detail, every soft inhale, every dot and blemish of her perfect face. “I want to remember this.”


End file.
